


Rosemary, for Remembrance

by Rubynye



Category: Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Interspecies, Year of Troubles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:27:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freddy Bolger's betrothed visits him in the Lockholes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rosemary, for Remembrance

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure about this one. I wrote it for [](http://community.livejournal.com/ringprov/profile)[**ringprov**](http://community.livejournal.com/ringprov/), Challenge #11 ('write an original character having a romance with one of the canon characters') and Challenge #9 (a funeral), but I'm unsure enough about it that I'm not putting it there.
> 
> Looking at my OC, I'm not sure if she's a Mary Sue or not. Hrmn. Also, this is a very sad story, not that it could be helped given the subject matter.

"We have to tell him, Merry," Pippin said in a low voice. "He's been asking for her since we brought him out of the Lockholes. We have to tell him."

"We can't!" Merry clutched Pippin's arm, glancing back at the closed door as if Freddy, Fatty no longer, could have heard them through it. "Look at him! He's thinner than Will Whitfoot is! It would kill him to know!"

"If it had happened to me, you would want to know." Estella frowned at her betrothed. "If it had happened to Pippin, you would want to know." Merry winced at those words, clutching Pippin's arm more tightly, for death had indeed nearly taken Pippin from him. Estella put her hand on Merry's arm, rubbing gently as if she could soothe the bite of her words. "He deserves to know, Merry, and she deserves to not be hidden."

Pippin said nothing, just kept that steady gaze on him; Merry, caught between them, wilted in surrender. "Alright, Pip, Stel. All right. Let's go tell him." Pippin and Estella each took one of Merry's arms, as Pippin pushed open the door, and they went in to give Freddy the terrible news.

 

******

 

"Where, Folco?" Rosemary Brandybuck, sweetheart of Freddy Bolger, huddled with his friend Folco, whispering news of him. "Where is he?"

"They've made Lockholes out of the tunnels at Michel Delving; folk say that's where they've been putting the rebels, and really anyone who stands up to the ruffians." Folco glanced over his shoulder; not every hobbit who had allied with the occupying Men wore a shirrif's feather. No one stood near them in the hallway, however, and Rosemary clutched his wrist, begging him wordlessly to continue. "Adelle's brother is a Shirrif"---Rosemary grimaced; Folco shrugged apologetically---"and he says he saw Freddy there, perhaps two months ago, when they had to conduct a prisoner."

"Had to," Rosemary repeated scornfully. "Well, then, Folco, it's to Michel Delving I'm going." She held up her hand before he could speak. "Freddy needs me, if he's going to make it through till whenever these dark days end. I love him, I'm to wed him, and I'm going to go see him."

"You headstrong Brandybucks." Folco shook his head, but he couldn't but smile. "Be careful, Rosemary. Freddy will never forgive me if harm comes to you."

"He can be cross with me," she said, kissing Folco on his cheek. "And I'll tell him so."

 

******

 

Rosemary felt far less brave as she stood before the door to the Guard-house built by the iron-barred entrance to the Lockholes. It was a tall door before a tall house, built of coarse boards, grey and frowning, refuse strewn about. She held a basket of bread and cakes in one hand and the hand of Daffodil, her aunt's youngest maid, in the other. "I think you should wait outside for me, Daffodil," Rosemary whispered, trying to unclench her hand.

"And leave you alone with them, in there? I'd never forgive myself, Miss Rosemary." Daffodil's voice shook, but she kept her head up. Rosemary squared her shoulders, disentangled her fingers from Daffodil's, took a deep breath, and knocked upon the door.

One of those tall ugly Men stuck his head out, looked down, and favored the hobbit maidens with a gap-toothed sneer. "And what have we here? Greetings, Lady Rat, and what would you this fair day?"

Rosemary gritted her teeth and spoke as sweetly as she could manage. "Sir, I would like to see the, the prisoners, sir."

"You would, would you now?" A rough voice called from inside and the Man turned to reply, "two little misses come to see the prisoners! Shall we?" An affirmative grunt from within, and he turned back to them. "Well, my ladies, won't you come in?"

He hardly held the door open, however. Rosemary had to squeeze in past his smelly bulk; she heard Daffodil cry out behind her and turned to see her white as a sheet with her hand to her face. "What a soft little cheek," said the Man, standing between them and the closed door, his gap-toothed grin stretching from ear to ear. "I wonder how the other feels?" But he reached towards her rear. Daffodil whimpered and ducked behind Rosemary, who held the basket before her as a shield. "Let her be!"

"You oughtn't to take that tone in here, Lady Rat," said the Man, drawing down his brows, and Rosemary's hot anger froze into fear, cold in her stomach. Heavy footsteps behind her, and she turned to see, between her and a dingy room with a table and benches, three more Men, one cleaning his nails idly with a knife, all three dirty and rough and dangerous. "What have we here, Chet?" asked the one with the knife.

"Visitors for the prisoners," said the Man who'd pinched Daffodil; Rosemary put her arm round the girl, as much to strengthen herself as to comfort her maid. "Sir," she said, hearing her voice shake; she swallowed and tried again. "Sir, please may we visit them?"

The other two laughed nastily. "Hmmm, and why should we let you in? What's your ticket? That basket of vittles?"

_Ticket?_ thought Rosemary, cursing herself for a fool. She hadn't thought she'd need to bargain. "Sir, respectfully, sir, this food is for the prisoners."

"Is it now? It looks far too fine for the likes of them." The first Man---Chet, was it?---reached over Rosemary's shoulder and pulled out a loaf; she cried out, and reached to snatch it back, but Daffodil caught her hand. "No, Miss," Daffodil whispered, still pale, holding Rosemary's hand between her own. "Let it be."

Rosemary wanted to snap at her, but she needed her, her only friend in this terrible place, and she realized she was right. "Please, sir," Rosemary said to the man with the knife. "Please let me bring this to them."

"Oh, I could never resist a pretty miss," he drawled, and reached down a broad dirty hand to touch her cheek. She shuddered, concentrating on Daffodil's hands tight around hers to keep from flinching away, as he dragged his fingertops along her cheekbone and around half her face. What had she been thinking, when she came here? "Sir, please unhand me," she whispered, belly cold, mouth going dry. "Sir, please."

He laughed, and pinched her cheek hard, and pulled his hand back. "Let them in to see the prisoners, Arn," he said over his shoulder to one of the Men, who strode back around the table towards the far door. Rosemary took a deep breath and unstuck her feet from the floor and scrambled after him, dragging Daffodil with her.

The Lockholes were low and dirt-floored, cells built of wood and iron bars. Rosemary peered around in the gloom, seeing hobbits in rags sitting in the narrow dark cells, or pacing round them; the ones who paced saw her and exclaimed, and the others jumped to their feet, crying out words of welcome, and she made herself smile. This was why she'd come, why she'd faced the ordeal. "A piece for each, Daffodil," she said briskly, as she stuck her hands through the bars, squeezing the prisoners' hands as they wept and cheered her and kissed her hands with cracked lips.

After only a few cells she began hurrying, faster and faster, until she nearly ran past the hobbit she'd been seeking, he was so changed. The last time Rosemary had seen Freddy he'd been stout and fair, nicknamed Fatty, strapping on a sword-belt and checking his bow before he kissed her and swung up onto his pony. Now, a kind hobbit would call him reduced, and an unkind one would say skinny; his face was changed, the Tookish sharpness emerged from its former roundness, and the ruddiness in his dark hair was hidden by a layer of filth.

Even so, when he looked up at her with those same green eyes, she knew him and skidded to a halt. "Freddy! Oh, Freddy!"

"Rosemary!" Freddy blinked at her disbelievingly, then threw himself forward; he crawled, and she saw the dirty bloodstained rag tied round his foot, and had to swallow against the lump in her throat. "Freddy, Freddy," she heard herself whimpering, as she sank to her knees and pressed her face to the bars; he reached through to touch her hair as he kissed her desperately, his lips rough and chapped and so welcome. "Oh, my Freddy, what happened?"

"That's long enough." The Man stood over them; Daffodil flung herself between, and Rosemary opened her mouth to plead for more time, but Daffodil was already tugging her to her feet. "Come on, visiting time is over," said the Man impatiently, as Daffodil tugged; Rosemary stood her ground stubbornly, looking at Freddy until she saw the Man reaching for her. Then she moved, but she turned as she did, crying, "Freddy, I'll be back, I'll be back, I love you!"

Back in the guard-house, and Chet was still lounging before the door, and the one with the knife leaned against the wall. "Th-thank you," Rosemary said politely, hoping they couldn't see her eyes flashing. "Thank you for letting me see the prisoners."

"Anytime, little doll," said the one with the knife. Rosemary took a step towards the door. Chet didn't move. "But you still haven't paid your ticket."

The other two stood behind her and Daffodil now, laughing nastily again; Rosemary glanced up, and saw the two Men before her looking at her, and her heart sank even further. "No, sir, please just let us by..." she heard herself begging, saw the dreadful answering smile on his face, and stuffed her hand in her mouth. Better to save her breath. Better to act like a Brandybuck. She drew herself straighter and glared at Chet, as if she could burn through him to the door with her eyes.

He laughed. "Come now, we're not so bad," said the one with the knife. "This can go easy, or it can go hard. Why not have easy? At your height, you won't even have to muss your frock." He stepped forward again, and Rosemary felt herself shaking, wanting to scream, wanting to run, wanting to be gone from there. But there was no way out, no way to bring more food to the prisoners, no way to see Freddy again, until they let her go.

Until they let her and Daffodil go. "This bargain is with me," Rosemary heard herself say. "Let my maid go." Daffodil cried out, Chet stood up from the door, but the one with the knife grinned ear to ear. "Ooo, greedy, ain't you? All of us, all for you. All right, Chet, put the other one out."

"Miss!" Daffodil clutched her arm; Rosemary pried her fingers off. "Wait outside for me." Daffodil was shaking her head; clinging to her; desperately, Rosemary shoved her away. "Go!" she shouted at Daffodil, just as Chet lifted her by her shoulders, tucking her under one arm as he opened the door. He held Daffodil in midair and kissed her soundly as she made smothered squeaks of protest, then set her on her feet and shut the door again.

For all of that, Rosemary wished she were outside, as they turned back to her. "Well, then, little miss," said the one with the knife, undoing the clasp on his breeches, "here we are." Her gorge rising, Rosemary closed her eyes and swallowed.

 

******

 

After they let her go, Rosemary made it out of the town square by putting one foot before the other, Daffodil weeping at her side the whole way, before she collapsed and retched, but when she did it brought up everything; Daffodil held her hair back from her face and rubbed her back as she heaved, aching and empty and already sobbing, then helped her far enough away before they sank to their knees, sobbing hysterically in each other's arms.

All Rosemary wanted was to go home and draw a hot bath, scrub herself till she could no longer smell their stink, feel their hands on her, taste their----that thought sent her into fresh spasms of sobbing, and Daffodil, calming down a little, managed to find a handkerchief and wiped Rosemary's face with it, over and over, until it was soaked. Some young hobbits happened by, farmers from their looks; they gave them water, and Rosemary managed to sip a little, but couldn't quite manage to stop weeping, to say anything. Daffodil let go of her to ask the farmers for their aid, and they brought a wagon, drawn by an old gray pony, and loaded the girls into it. Rosemary hardly noticed; she curled in on herself and kept weeping.

Back at her aunt's house Daffodil got Rosemary into her bath and brought her some tea, and finally, in the bath, Rosemary was able to stop shaking and sobbing. Sniffling and gulping, she looked up into Daffodil's red eyes. "Thank you," she managed to say.

"Miss Rosemary, you've no call to thank the likes of me," Daffodil replied, and pressed the heel of her hands to her eyes, as if to keep in the tears. "I should have been the one in there."

"Don't say that, Daffodil. I can't bear it. I couldn't do that to you."

"And you can bear it to be done to you?" Surprised, Rosemary glanced up; Daffodil looked shockingly angry, and then dismayingly sad, a handprint on her face, as Rosemary realized that her hand had just slapped Daffodil, right on the cheek that had been pinched. Rosemary looked at that hand, then reached it out again as Daffodil began sobbing once more, to grasp Daffodil's hand, to haul herself out of the bath and pull her into her arms. "Daffodil, I'm sorry," Rosemary whispered. "I'm sorry."

"I should be begging your pardon," Daffodil sobbed into Rosemary's wet hair. "I had no call to speak so to you, Miss Rosemary. I'm sorry. And after all you've borne to keep me from harm. I'm so sorry."

Rosemary merely shook her head, burying her face in Daffodil's hair, and wept.

 

******

 

It took three days before Rosemary could drag herself out of bed. Her mother and her aunt both tried to find out what had happened; she told them, and told Daffodil to tell them, that it was terribly upsetting to see all those hobbits in the Lockholes. Neither of them believed that that was all her grief, but they stopped asking; with a houseful of relations to care for, including all their and their siblings' children, they had more worries than just one headstrong tween girl, after all.

On the fifth day Rosemary packed another basket with whatever food could be spared, consoling herself that she hadn't eaten much recently anyway, and slipped out. Daffodil met her by the back door, not speaking, and they went on together though every step made Rosemary's heels feel heavier. To console herself she thought of Freddy, as he'd been and he'd been again, fat and handsome and high-spirited, and she thought of his poor thin face now, lit up at the sight of her. That helped, a little. At least until she got to the door.

The one with the knife bowed mockingly when he saw her. "Ah, we've missed you," he said, and Rosemary felt her face burn. Daffodil folded her hand around Rosemary's arm, even though she herself was shaking, and shook worse when Chet made kiss faces at her.

Once they were inside the Lockholes Rosemary left the basket with Daffodil and ran straight to Freddy. "Oh, love," she breathed, forgetting everything for the moment as she stuck her hands through the bars. "Oh, how are you?"

"Rosemary." He kissed her hands, weeping over them; she tugged him sitting to kiss her mouth. "I'm fine," he lied, his mouth a crooked imitation of a smile. "How did you get them to let you here?"

"I bartered," she replied, willing him with all her heart to not ask what. He looked at her, eyes narrowed for a moment, but didn't ask; he kissed her again, and she closed her eyes and shut out all the world and just felt his chapped dear mouth on hers. Daffodil came by with the basket, and Rosemary took a whole loaf for him, but Freddy shook his head. "Just a piece, Rosemary," he said, and wouldn't take more, though she protested, "But---"

"That's long enough," said the Man, standing over them. "Come on, little bit." Rosemary got to her feet before he reached for her, walking backwards, clinging to Freddy's hands for as long as she could. "I love you, my brave lass," he said, and she smiled as she let go, though her eyes welled. "I love you!" she called. "I'll be back!"

Then she was in the guardhouse, and five pairs of eyes were on her, one terrified and four full of lust.

 

******

 

Rosemary got further up the Road this time before she retched, and she didn't weep, but sat dully, as Daffodil wiped her face. "I don't know if I can do that again," she said, her voice flat in her ears. The autumn breeze blew across her face, cool as a handkerchief.

"No one could ask you to," Daffodil soothed, but Rosemary shook her head. "I promised Freddy I'd be back."

"Would he think it a fair price you pay to see him?" Daffodil asked; Rosemary glared at her, angered out of her stupor. "He's not to know, Daffodil," she snapped; Daffodil looked at her mildly, and turned to pick up the basket again.

"There they are!" a deep voice shouted. "The guards' whores!" Rosemary jumped to her feet and turned to see several Men, too many to count at a glance, coming up the Road behind her, and at this deserted bend of it, too, lined by tall grass. Daffodil was staring at her, eyes wide with shock; Rosemary tore the basket out of her hands and threw it away as she started to run, but she still felt sick from the retching, she was slow with it. Daffodil ran ahead; when she realized she was leaving Rosemary she slowed, and Rosemary screamed, "run!" at her. She stumbled, but she was nearly at the grass, she could hide there----

 

Rosemary tripped, her knee hit the ground, Daffodil had vanished into the grass, hard large hands were landing on her. In a white haze of terror Rosemary screamed and kicked and struggled; a heavy hand clamped over her mouth and she bit it as hard as she could, and she heard a curse before a heavy blow snapped her head to the side. She heard her dress torn, felt her hair clutched, felt them start beating her in earnest. _Freddy_ she thought, just before another blow knocked her senseless.

 

******

 

By the time Daffodil made it back to the bend in the Road, a good dozen hobbits with her, Rosemary was alone again, lying in a pool of blood. They buried her in her aunt's garden, beneath the spreading oak, and planted a memory-bush of her namesake herb on her grave. Three weeks later, it was November Fourth, and the Lockholes were opened. Three days after that, Freddy Bolger sat by the memory bush, wrapped in blankets, weeping. Merry knelt beside him, supporting him; Estella sat before him, weeping also, holding his hand in one hand, her other arm around Daffodil. They didn't speak; the four of them, they just sat in the fall sunlight and wept together and remembered Rosemary.

"I should have told her not to come back," Freddy finally said; Merry put his arms around him and squeezed him gently. Daffodil took a deep breath before she spoke. "It wasn't your doing, Mr. Freddy. It was them. She loved you." Freddy nodded, and managed, after a moment, a weak smile.

"Rosemary is for remembrance," sang Estella, and soon they were all singing the old song, still weeping, thinking of Rosemary.


End file.
